


It's A Good Place

by allonym



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, It's a Good Life - Jerome Bixby
Genre: BAMF River Song, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Post-Library River Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonym/pseuds/allonym
Summary: "Everybody lives" doesn't mean "happily ever after." The story of River's fight to escape the most terrible prison yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was re-watching _Forests of the Dead_ and it made me wonder, knowing River as we know her now, just how happy an ending it really was.

“Some days, nobody dies at all. Now and then, every once in a very long while, one day in a million days, when the wind stands fair, and the Doctor comes to call - everybody lives.”   
  
River carefully closed her diary and held it like a talisman. She sheltered her inner thoughts with fluffy pink feelings of love and devotion, and tiptoed over to CAL to give her a kiss goodnight.  
  
And to doublecheck that the child was really, truly asleep.  
  
The sound of the little girl’s even breathing was a relief. She glanced over to Donna’s sleeping twins — no movement there - and then walked carefully towards the door.  
  
“Sweet dreams, everyone,” she prayed, and turned off the light.  
  
Now, if she could convince Miss Evangelista to mind the sleeping children, there was a chance that she could make some progress while most of CAL’s higher functions were occupied in slumber. Too bad she couldn’t just leave them — but of course she wouldn’t, she quickly reminded herself. She was very _happy_ to play mother to such lovely children.  
  
CAL wanted everyone in her world to be happy. She could get quite cross when they weren’t.  
  
So River was careful to always be happy. As CAL had told her, this was a _good_ place. River would always be safe here ( _sometimes she hated the Doctor_ ).  
  
She wondered how long before Miss Evangelista could come over — and suddenly the other woman was there in River’s living room. Of all the people who shared River’s world ( _prison_ ), Miss Evangelista bothered her the least — or better to say, was her favorite. The others had changed ( _had pieces missing_ ) after integrating to the new world, but Miss Evangelista was much the same ( _simple_ ) lovely person she had been before.  
  
“Thank you so much for coming over,” said River. “I have a few tests to run at the university that are best done at night. The children are in bed; I don’t expect they’ll wake up.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” said Miss Evangelista. “You’re very nice. Like Donna was. But the others don’t laugh at me anymore.”  
  
No, they didn’t. All the rough edges had been smoothed over in her team. All their foibles gone. They never squabbled or showed jealously. They were _happy._  
  
River reminded herself she too was happy. Must be happy. She smiled warmly at Miss Evangelista.  
  
“Of course they don’t. You’re a lovely person.”  
  
Miss Evangelista smiled back. “I wasn’t before, you know. A lovely person, I mean. When Donna was here I wasn’t lovely at all. I was damaged. I caused problems. CAL fixed me, after the data core was repaired. She can fix you, too.”  
  
River’s smile froze, and she clutched her diary like a drowning woman holding a life preserver. It was the reason she hadn’t changed ( _she hoped she hadn’t changed_ ). CAL was hardwired to preserve the integrity of books, so River had created her diary inside the computer. She knew every word by heart, of course. Everything she was, good and bad, was in it. As long as she had her diary, she could maintain the core of her personality.  
  
But that didn’t stop the efforts to integrate her into the environment through other means. So River was careful to fit smoothly into the world CAL had built.  
  
“She is a clever girl,” said River. “Well, I must be off. You have my communicator codes, of course. I should be back in a few hours.”  
  
To make sure that it was a few hours, with no time jumps, River would have to focus on each moment in sequence while she was working at the university.  
  
Where she was now. In her research lab, studying the preservation of electronic body signatures throughout the ages. Transmats were generally programmed to erase electronic body signatures once the person had rematerialized, to avoid duplication accidents such as the 500 Bartholomews of Oobleck Prime. But a good archeologist could find the data that others thought lost forever.  
  
Her own body was never transmatted by CAL, so even though it _felt_ real in here, she couldn’t materialize it corporally — there was no record of all the detailed cellular activity that was needed to maintain life outside the mainframe.  
  
Purely hypothetically speaking, of course. Because no one would want to live outside the mainframe — it wasn’t safe out there.  
  
But other bodies had been transmatted. One could perhaps use the somatic information to create a body with a new consciousness. Hypothetically speaking. But separating personality from the rest of the individual was tricky. Done wrong, and there could be two sentient identities fighting for the same body.  
  
However, there were also other records in the Library of electronic body signatures — the Flesh banks included electronic records of thousands of faces, if one wanted to materialize as just a face ( _perhaps there were worse fates than imprisonment in a computer_ ).  
  
The scientific history section included quite a bit of information on the Flesh, including different ways the body’s electronic signature was stored and transmitted to the Flesh avatar. But aside from the information kiosks, there was no Flesh in the physical Library.  
  
Then River found the records from Demon’s Run, and felt her virtual heart skip a beat. There she was, in an obscure set of journals, complete with superhyperlinks to the raw data. Her own electronic body signature.  
  
If she wanted to materialize as an infant.  
  
But there was also a map of her DNA. Perhaps she could extrapolate. . .  
  
“Working late, Dr. Song?”  
  
River gave an involuntary jump before she quickly settled into a warm smile for her visitor. “Dr. Moon! You startled me. Yes, I was just doing a bit of research. It’s easier in the evening, when the demand for computer time is down.”  
  
In fact, she seldom spent much linear time at work during the day. There was a tendency to time skip straight through it — probably because of the magnitude of computer processing needed to create all her colleagues and students.  
  
Dr. Moon smiled benignly at her. “Now, you shouldn’t overtax yourself. Too much work and you might end up back at hospital. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”  
  
“No indeed, Dr. Moon. It’s so good of you to look out for me. I appreciate your dedication to all your patients,” she said. Was there any chance she might convince him to move on? He was a virus checker at heart, and was used to dealing with programs who tried to disguise their true intentions by adding a false layer of information. Best to move on now that she’d gotten his attention.  
  
Luckily she’d copied the most critical information about her genome into her diary ( _creating a memory to fill in gaps could work to her advantage sometimes_ ).  
  
“Think nothing of it. It’s why I’m here. Now, have you decided what you’re bringing to the Sunday picnic?” he asked.  
  
“A salad, I think,” she said, and lost her concentration on the moment. And found herself in the park, holding a large bowl of her special baechi fruit salad.  
  
“Come _on_ , River!” shouted CAL, running ahead to the group of people clustered around a picnic table, with Joshua and Ella right behind her.  
  
River followed more sedately, assembling her warmest smile for the group. Anita rushed forward to take the salad, and Proper Dave pulled River into a hug. She hugged back, focusing on the somatic comfort that the hug provided, despite everything. It was enough to allow her to refresh her veneer of contentment.  
  
The sun was shining, with a slight breeze to keep things from getting too hot.  
  
Looked like it was going to be a _good_ day.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

River rolled a six and puffed out a sigh of relief as she counted off the squares. Only three spaces left and this ( _interminable_ ) closely-matched game of Snakes and Ladders would be done. CAL had insisted that she play, along with Proper Dave and Other Dave. The Daves were required because two of the game pieces were boys and therefore needed male players. Neither man seemed to think it odd to find themselves in River’s dining room playing such a ( _boring_ ) classic children’s game in the middle of the afternoon.  
  
As far as why River was playing, she was very much afraid it was because CAL wanted to keep a close eye on her. Of course, it was  _good_  that she felt so close to River. But River hoped it didn’t mean CAL was worried that River might ( _did_ ) want to leave ( _or that River’s shell of happiness was wearing thin_ ).  
  
But the main question that tugged at River was why did CAL, who had unimaginable processing capability and access to more than 5,000 years of human knowledge, confine herself to the life of a young girl? ( _and not a particularly interesting young girl at that_ ). She could do or be anything or anyone in the considerable human experience, yet she chose  _this_? Perhaps the whole situation was karma for the days a girl named Melody pined for a “normal” childhood.  
  
“River, it’s your turn,” CAL said sharply.   
  
River startled, realizing her thoughts had strayed. How much had CAL detected? She wrapped her mind in the exciting possibility of winning this game. All she needed was three or higher. . .she rolled a one.  
  
Right onto the end of a snake’s tail. A snake that stretched all the way back down to the third row. She stared at the single dot on the face of the die. Pure chance, was it? She looked over at CAL.  
  
“Right, then,” said River. “I think I’m done for. I believe I’ll bow out now.”

“But, River, we just started playing!” said CAL. Her voice was sweet and pleading, but there a mischievous gleam in her eye.

How long had they been playing? It felt like ages. No clocks here in the dining room. Now that she thought about it, there were no clocks anywhere. How long had it been since she sat down?

In fact, how had it been since she died? No one aged here, not even the children. It could have been years. It could’ve been hundreds of years. She looked again at the snake trailing back to the start of the game. Exactly how extensive a game has she been playing? In the end, everything — the dice, the board, the house, and even River herself — were a part of CAL. Was it all a matter of watching River climb, and then fall, again and again?

“River?” said CAL, looking worried now. Perhaps she should be. River had been holding herself together ( _for how long?_ ) with the idea that she was making progress towards escape. If that was just another illusion, well, then she’d have nothing left to lose. How much damage could a rogue element do to this perfectly programmed world before she was put down?

“Now River, what would the Doctor say?” said Dr. Moon ( _when did he arrive?_ ) in his rich soothing tones. 

White hot fury struck her to the core. Fury that he would talk of the Doctor, that he would know exactly the touchpoint to make her heel. Fury at the Doctor, her Doctor, for putting her in this hell in the first place. The young Doctor she could forgive, he’d barely met her, but it had been  _her_  Doctor who gave her the screwdriver that leeched onto her consciousness, at least if CAL’s story on how she arrived was to be believed. (And it did sound like one of the Doctor’s mad schemes.)  _Her_  Doctor would've know how much she would hated this confinement.

And most of all, fury that he was right. Even as her mind muttered that CAL was no child, River knew that the Doctor would never approve of deliberately hurting her. CAL was not evil — she was just lonely, and wanted her friends to be happy. She was the girl who had held 4,022 chattering souls in her mind, because she felt she had to save them. The Doctor would give her another chance. 

Perhaps it was time to try talking again. “CAL. . .”

But CAL’s face had gone blank. “The Library has been breached. He has arrived.”

River looked at Dr. Moon, whose face was full of concern, and then over at the two Daves, who had been placidly waiting for the game to resume. She hardly dared hope. . .

“Who’s here?” she said, looking at CAL again.

“The Lone Traveler. He’s trying to. . .” CAL’s blank face was replaced by a look of terror.

“Hey! Who turned out the lights?!” shouted Proper Dave, in a voice River sometimes heard in her nightmares. He was staring at nothing, beads of sweat on his brow.

“We should go. Doctor!” cried Other Dave, also looking intently at nothing. River looked around, but there was no sign of the Doctor. These were probably Dave’s last words — she had told him to watch over the Doctor when the Time Lord confronted the Vashta Nerada. 

Maybe it would be her turn to start chanting “spoilers” soon.

Then CAL screamed, a high-pitched sound of pure terror, and collapsed to the floor. Dr. Moon hurried to her side.

“What’s wrong?” asked River, kneeling beside them.

Dr. Moon, who was always calm no matter what, had turned ashen, his eyes wide with fear.

“No, no, you mustn’t!” screamed CAL.

“Hey! Who turned out the lights?!” 

“We should go. Doctor!”

River ignored the chorus of Daves and focused on CAL. “Mustn’t what darling? What’s happening?”

“The books! He’s trying to delete the books! He’s. . he’s. . . “

River’s heart plunged. If someone (the Lone Traveler?) was trying to delete books, then the computer would divert all energies towards saving them.

Which meant. . . River grabbed her diary and dashed for the front door, running at full speed into the yard, as everything sparkled and dissolved around her.


	3. Chapter 3

Someone had taken care to ensure that the Doctor’s chambers in the presidential palace matched his tastes. Granted, the furniture was a mish-mash of ancient Earth styles, ranging from 18th century Georgian neoclassic to 20th century Rietveld, but clearly someone was trying to please him.  
  
Which did not change the fact he was left cooling his heels after having been abruptly summoned to Gallifrey. Really, he expected better of Romana than to get all stuffy about protocol, especially if things had gotten bad enough to call for his help. He wondered what her emergency really was.  
  
A glance out the window showed that second sunset was imminent. The color on the horizon deepened to burgundy, evoking a feeling of _home_ , despite everything. The Doctor studied the faint reflection in the window and straightened his cravat.  
  
Time **s t r e t c h e d**. The temporal distortion pressed all around him, as if the air pressure in the room had doubled. He tried to identify the source of the deformation, but nothing seemed to be menacing. It was just there.  
  
Then time snapped back into place, and still the Doctor stood, his hand to his cravat, his timesense unfurled.  
  
Nothing. All was well, peaceful even. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease on Gallifrey.  
  
Something must be terribly wrong.  
  
He strode to the door leading to the corridor, and then hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. Opening it seemed an impossibly dangerous task, potentially causing a break in reality. Could he trust this feeling, or was it being imposed from the outside? He checked his shields — securely in place. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that some outside influence was affecting him.  
  
The sound of running footsteps penetrated from the corridor and the feeling of danger vanished. He opened the door. A woman dressed in flowing white was racing down the marble corridor, clutching something in her hand. She spotted him and skidded to a stop, a bright smile blooming across her face.  
  
“Hello, sweetie,” she said. Her curls were a halo around her head, and in her hand was a small battered blue journal.  
  
“Hello. . .have we met?” he asked.  
  
She frowned. “Yes, of course we’ve met, Doctor. And you’ve also already had your first meeting with me, so you can’t be meeting me for the first time now. Do you really not know me?”  
  
“I’m afraid not.”  
  
“Then you must have some gaps in your memory. . .or you’re not the real Doctor,” she said.  
  
He considered the problem. “Well this regeneration has been prone to memory issues, but I have to say I’m not quite feeling myself at the moment either.”  
  
He looked up and down the silent corridor. “Where precisely are we?” he asked.  
  
She studied his face. “Where do you think you are?”  
  
“Most recently I was on Gallifrey. . .but I’m not there anymore, am I?” He didn’t care for the sorrow that swept over her face at his words.  
  
“You’re in the Library — even more precisely, you’re in the Library’s data core. I take it that this isn’t a rescue, then?”  
  
“Why do you ask? Do you need a rescue?” he asked, even as he considered her explanation. Now things made a lot more sense.  
  
She laughed. “Don’t I always? But it’s not just me. There’s a little girl who needs help right now — her reality is unraveling.”  
  
“Well, what are we waiting for? I might or might not be the real Doctor, but either way I should still be brilliant at rescues.”  
  
Her reply was to pull him into the corridor. Her hand was human-hot in his and she tugged at him with an accustomed urgency. He followed, and they began to run down the corridor and into a washed-out out landscape carved from white light. Now there was no sign of the presidential palace or any other Gallifreyan landmark. The space around was like a rough sketch, and their feet were running on a white nothingness.  
  
It was unsettling, especially when he noticed the outline of the woman’s body was blurring into the light surrounding them. She needed to focus herself.  
  
“What’s your name?” he shouted. His voice had a peculiar flattened echo to it.  
  
“Professor River Song!” she called back, and he was glad to see her blurred edges sharpen.  
  
“Lovely name! Any idea where we’re going?”  
  
“Well, Dr. Moon would’ve taken CAL — that’s the little girl — to the most secure area of the data core — probably to the hard-wired algorithms. I’m trying to go in the direction that feels the most solid.” They were still running on nothing, but he agreed that the nothing seemed more there than the previous nothing.  
  
“Who’s Dr. Moon?”  
  
“He’s the virus checker — literally the moon that orbits the physical Library. His primary programming is to protect CAL — her father built the whole Library just for her.”  
  
She had an impressive ability to run and talk at the same time. Always an advantage in the friends that traveled with him and he was certain that she must’ve traveled with him. She radiated familiarity, although he was sure he hadn’t met her before.  
  
“How did you end up here?” he asked.  
  
“Some idiot decided that it was a good idea to trap my consciousness in a computer after I died.” The exasperated look she shot at him gave him a strong idea of which idiot she was referring to.  
  
He hated being blamed for things he hadn’t done yet.  
  
A building appeared in the pale landscape before them. White brick, and only two stories, but it had a sign with blue lettering on in — CAL. As soon as they entered the building, reality settled. The building was old, but solid, with worn carpet. There was no one in the entryway, so they walked down a narrow hallway. The Doctor opened the first door on the left.  
  
Inside was a hospital bed, surrounded by monitors. Beside it stood a grave-looking dark skinned man in glasses. As the Doctor watched, the man fuzzed into a blur of static, and then returned. In the bed was a small pale girl, with a network of lavender bruises across her face and down her arms. She was lying very still, and her breathing was labored. The Doctor recognized the symptoms of the final stages of Dziedzic’s Syndrome, a genetic disorder passed through the maternal mitochrondrial DNA.  
  
River hurried to the girl’s side. “CAL? Can you hear me?”  
  
The girl opened her eyes, which were horribly bloodshot. “River? You came back!”  
  
“Of course I came back. And I brought help, too.”  
  
CAL closed her eyes and turned her head away. “No one can help. They’re gone, all the books, they’re all gone. My Library is gone.”  
  
The Doctor raised an inquiring eyebrow at River. She answered his silent question.  
  
“When they realized CAL was dying, her family built the Library and integrated her consciousness into the command nodule, so she could have all of human knowledge to keep her company. She loved books so much. With the index gone and electronic copies of the books erased, I suppose she’s reverted to her pre-upload state,” she explained.  
  
The man standing vigil beside the bed spoke, his deep voice sounding strained. “I couldn’t stop it. Whoever hacked into the data core shredded through the firewalls and security protocols like they were paper. The most I could do was to cordon off CAL’s primary processes. But I don’t know how much longer I can hold out — someone’s trying to block my signal.” His body turned to static again, this time for several seconds before he came back.  
  
“Can you help her, Doctor?” asked River.  
  
“Of course I can, if she’ll let me.” The Doctor moved closer to the girl’s bed, leaning over. “CAL? CAL?" When she failed to respond, he turned back to River. "Is that her proper name?”  
  
“It’s an abbreviation. For Charlotte Abigail Luxe,” said River.  
  
“Charlotte? Can you hear me? I’m the Doctor, and I can help you,” he said gently.  
  
Charlotte opened her eyes slowly and looked at him. “You don’t look like the Doctor.”  
  
“Well, I change faces now and again, but it’s still me. Still brilliant as ever.” He smiled.  
  
She closed her eyes again. “You can’t fix me this time, Doctor. The books are gone.”  
  
“Well, it’s true I can’t turn you back into a library command module, but I can make you an ordinary girl. And I can give you books. Almost a million of them, most of which you haven’t read because they haven’t been written yet,” he said, scanning his own memory for books he’d read that would suit this child.  
  
For the first time, an expression other than weary resignation passed over Charlotte’s face. “New books? Truly?”  
  
He had to grin at that. “Truly.”  
  
“What I need to do?”  
  
“Just close your eyes and relax. I’m going to need to go into your mind a bit, but anything you don’t want me to see, imagine it behind a door. I won’t look.” He moved closer to the bed and very carefully touched his hands on the contact points on her face. Her flesh gave way under his fingers, but he kept them steady.  
  
He found the damage from the ripped connection to the command module immediately. Repairing it in this virtual reality wasn’t much different from repairing other types of psychic damage, and in less than a minute he was withdrawing from her mind, leaving her deep asleep. That was the easy part. The next stage would be much more difficult.  
  
He turned to Dr. Moon. “I’ve fixed the damage from the deletion — she’s stabilized now, and protected from further erasures. But to fix the damage from her illness, I’ll need access to her base code files. Can you give them to me?”  
  
Dr. Moon dissolved into static, and then returned. He stared hard at the Doctor, saying nothing.  
  
River spoke up. “Dr. Moon, please trust him. He can help her, and he will. I know your primary programming is to protect her, but giving the Doctor access to her base code is the best way of protecting her, I promise.”  
  
Dr. Moon hesitated a moment longer and then sighed, bending down to pick up a small metal case from beside the bed. He placed it on the nightstand and keyed in a code over each lock. It snapped open, and he pulled out a blue folder, and handed it to the Doctor.  
  
“Take good care of her,” he said, and then disappeared in a final buzz of static.  
  
The Doctor reviewed the codes, pushing away nervousness. It had been a long time since he re-coded a program he was a part of, and that was back when he was. . .well, in any case it was either him or no one. Nervousness had no part in this. It would work, he was certain. Almost certain.  
  
He closed his eyes, focusing his mental energies, and held his hands over Charlotte’s face, not quite touching. He had to convince her body to become that of a healthy human girl, without changing the essence of who Charlotte was. Luckily the base codes included the healthy template from CAL. He began the calculations for the change and was rewarded by a wash of feedback from the sleeping form — her body _wanted_ to be healthy, so the calculations flowed faster than he’d thought they would, a wave from her head down to her feet.  
  
He opened his eyes to see the bruises were already fading. His hands dropped to his sides and he took a step back. River reached over to hold his hand as they watched Charlotte’s skin gain a healthy color, and her breathing becoming unlabored. Her eyes opened, looking clear and bright.  
  
She sat up. “It doesn’t hurt!”  
  
The Doctor smiled. Hardest part done. Now it was time to keep his promise to her.  
  
“Let there be books!” he shouted, spreading his arms wide and opening up the memories of the books he had filed away for her.  
  
There was a ripple through the room, like a wave of heat shimmering, and all the medical equipment disappeared, and the hospital bed transformed into a little girl’s bed. Shelves began to grow from the walls and then books appeared in rows, one after the other. When those shelves filled he flung his thoughts to the rest of the house, adding a dozen more rooms, all filled with books.  
  
“Neat trick,” said River, grinning at him.  
  
Charlotte looked around the room in amazement. “Oh my! I wouldn’t even know where to start!”  
  
River walked over to a shelf, and the Doctor felt reality twinge. He realized that her clothing had changed; her flowing white dress was now a practical outfit of dark trousers and a green jumper, with a several pouches attached to a wide belt. Hmm. . .seems Professor Song had some impressive tricks up her sleeve as well. She pulled a slim volume from the shelf and took it over to Charlotte. The Doctor was even more surprised when he saw the curved symbols on the cover.  
  
“A book of Gallifreyan Fairy Tales?” he asked.  
  
She gave him a textbook enigmatic smile. “It was my favorite when I was young.”  
  
Well wasn’t that interesting — he would’ve sworn she was human. But how would a human child learn Gallifreyan fairy tales?  
  
“Thank you, River,” said Charlotte with a shy smile.  
  
Time for the grand finale, and grant the wish that Charlotte was afraid to say out loud. He had seen in her mind what she wanted more than anything, and the base codes gave him the power to give it to her.  
  
He focused his thoughts and immediately felt reality hum with the new creation.  
  
The door to the bedroom flew open and a man rushed in.  
  
“Daddy!!!” squealed Charlotte, jumping out of bed and running to the man.  
  
“Oh sweetheart, I was so worried about you,” he said, gathering her in his arms.  
  
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please forgive me. . .”  
  
“Shhh, no worries sweetheart. Nothing to forgive. I’m fine,” he said, rocking her in a hug.  
  
“Daddy, I missed you so much.”  
  
The Doctor stood there smiling at a job well done, when River tugged at his hand.  
  
“Let’s give them some time together,” she said.  
  
“Ah, yes. Of course.”  
  
They walked out of the building onto a bright green lawn. Birds were singing and the sky was a bright blue. She kept her hand in his as they walked. He didn’t mind.  
  
“Is the danger over, then?” she asked.  
  
“Yes. I integrated Charlotte’s programming into that of the new matrix that was being downloaded. They’ve stabilized into a single program now.”  
  
“And what is this new program? Who downloaded it, and why?”  
  
“I know what the program is, of course, since I’m part of it. I have a couple of guesses of who downloaded it, but I don’t have the first clue as to why.”  
  
They reached a park bench beside a stream, and she led him to sit down on it. “So what exactly is this program?”  
  
“It’s a copy of the Matrix, from Gallifrey. It includes recording of every Time Lord consciousness that ever lived. Including me. Which means, I’m afraid. I’m not really the Doctor. I’m just a copy. A copy of a copy, actually, apparently from an earlier point in my timestream than the version that you’ve met.”  
  
“Definitely from an earlier point,” she said grimly. Then her expression lightened, and a mischievous glint filled her eyes. She scooted closer.  
  
“So this means you are not going to become the Doctor that I met? Are you sure?” she asked.  
  
“Quite sure,” he said, and was baffled by the happiness that seemed to light her.  
  
“Oh good,” she said.  
  
“It’s good why?”  
  
“It’s good that I don’t have to worry about spoilers. Which also means I can do this.”  
  
She moved even closer, and before he could protest, her arm reached up to pull him towards her, with her fingertips brushing against the nape of his neck. He shivered.  
  
And then, to his further astonishment, she kissed him.  



	4. Chapter 4

She felt the Doctor stiffen in surprise as her lips met his, but then he relaxed into the kiss. She felt a flicker of amusement. Clearly not the first time this regeneration had kissed a human. His arms encircled her, holding her lightly. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and flicked it up across the glands on the roof of his mouth, and was rewarded with the sharp taste of cinnamon. Her fingers stroked the nape of his neck more firmly, and she felt his mind bump up against hers. Oh, it was definitely the Doctor, but so young! He groaned, pulling away.  
  
His gaze was searching, and she felt a pang at his youth. She had thought the Doctor in the Library was young, but this Doctor’s eyes had never seen the Time War. This man had never experienced the guilt of destroying his people. This Doctor was not the last of his kind.  
  
This was not _her_ Doctor.  
  
She removed her arms and moved back a little on the park bench. “I’m sorry, Doctor. That was terribly forward of me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a version of you that I could kiss like that, I got carried away.”  
  
He smiled, and wasn’t this Doctor lovely to look at? She loved him no matter his face, but there was no doubt that this regeneration was particularly beautiful.  
  
“My pleasure, Professor Song. One of the advantageous of time travel is being kissed by strangers,” he said. “I take it we have a. . .nonlinear relationship?”  
  
“About as nonlinear as you can get. The first time I met you, you knew everything about me. The first time you met me, you saw me die.”  
  
“Ah. . .I’m surprised the Time Lords didn’t put a stop to it. Nonlinear relationships can be very dangerous — the whole universe could be jeopardized if something becomes misaligned,” he said.  
  
“So I’ve heard,” she said drily. “Luckily you’re rather good at fixing the universe. So, what happens now?”  
  
The Doctor shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’m not supposed to be here. Of course, the Matrix is not supposed to be in the Library at all, but even given that, I shouldn’t have woken up. A copy of the Matrix would not have enough space for all the Time Lord active consciousness. We’d stay asleep here unless for some extraordinary reason we are summoned. But if someone summoned me, why haven’t they made their wishes known?”  
  
River chuckled. “Doctor, I’m fairly sure I was the one who summoned you. You were definitely in my thoughts when I was running for my life. And you _always_ come when I call.”  
  
To River’s delight, the Doctor started blushing at her words.  
  
“I like this face,” she continued. “You look quite adorable when you’re flustered.”  
  
This earned her a haughty look. “So you haven’t seen this face before? How did you know it was me when I opened the door, then?”  
  
“You gave me pictures of all your faces, although not in the right order, so I have no idea which ones know me and which ones don’t. There was an unfortunate incident with an imposter, so it seemed a reasonable precaution.” She felt a flash of pain, but luckily the Doctor didn’t seem to want to probe.  
  
“I see. Well, then, I suppose the next step is to figure who stole a copy of the Matrix from Gallifrey, and why.”  
  
“If an unscrupulous person could access the Matrix, what would they be able to do?” she asked.  
  
“Oh heavens, all sorts of terrible things. The Matrix contains the whole of Time Lord knowledge. With the right program, they could resurrect long-dead villains. Or recreate some of the appalling weapons that have been forbidden since the Dark Times. Of course, they could also stage a revival of obsolete Gallifreyan plays or conduct poetry readings.”  
  
“I’m guessing the first possibilities are the more likely ones,” she said, her dread growing. She should’ve realized from the start what was happening. Her life was a series of reverse causal loops; she should’ve realized that there was at least one more to close.  
  
“Yes, since the thief is no doubt a renegade Time Lord, and most of them are bent on destruction. Yours truly being the exception, of course,” he said with a smile.  
  
“Of course,” she said quickly. “So, how do we keep the thief from accessing it?”  
  
“Well, since the copy of the Matrix is located in the Library’s data core, the base codes from Dr. Moon should help. And I also the memories of wearing the Crown of Rassilon and holding the Key of Rassilon, which were the two main ways of accessing the Matrix. Using all of that, I should be able to achieve a total lockdown,” he said.  
  
“And how much time do we have?”  
  
The Doctor closed his eyes a moment. “Not until after the initial download is completed. It’s still going on. After that, it would depend on how quickly the thief can work through the codes to access what he wants. Given that he was able to steal the Matrix in the first place, probably not long.”  
  
“And what would a total lockdown mean for us?” she asked.  
  
“Well, this world would go on as it is, but no one would be able to access it from the outside. At all. But it also means. . . “ he hesitated.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“No one inside will be able to access the universe outside. Ever.” He was studying her face carefully.  
  
She looked at him. His words implied that access _was_ possible now. “And without the lockdown, could we materialize in the outside universe?”  
  
“Charlotte could, certainly. You might be able to, if I had access to your bio-data.”  
  
Bio-data like she had copied into her diary from the records from Demon’s Run. Excitement began to bubble up.  
  
“I, however, could not leave,” he said calmly. Too calmly.  
  
“Why not?” she asked.  
  
“Because a version of me is already out in the universe. Creating an alternate me could create a strain on reality.” His calm smile made her shiver. Was he really okay, or was the Matrix subtly shaping him?  
  
“Anyway,” he continued, “What would the universe do with two Doctors?”  
  
She gave me a slow smile, and was delighted to see that she startled another blush from him even before she even spoke. “Oh, I can think of one or two things.”  
  
“Yes, well, I’m sure you can,” he said, as if he was trying to sound stern. “Anyway, it’s impossible for any of us. No way you or Charlotte could confront a renegade Time Lord by yourselves.”  
  
She felt a thrill of fear, a clean fear, rather than the oppressive dread that weighed her down in this prison of reality. “Charlotte couldn’t. I doubt she would even want to leave here. But I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I need to do. I think I know who the thief must be.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“The Master.” The only other Time Lord to survive Gallifrey’s fall — and in Master’s case, he did it twice. But she didn’t want to burden this young Doctor with that knowledge. She might not need to avoid spoilers, but there was no need to tell him everything, either.  
  
He sighed. “No, that’s one person it can’t be. The Master is dead.” Relief and sorrow mingled in his voice; some things hadn’t changed with this Doctor, at least.  
  
She gave him a gentle smile. “Since when does the Master ever stay dead? I’ve met him, Doctor. And I think he must’ve met me before, given how well he knew me then. If I confront him now, I can make doubly sure he doesn’t access the Matrix.”  
  
“Absolutely not! Too dangerous. Of all my enemies, he is the most deadly. I also know him better than anyone — he’s one person I’m sure I’ll be able to lock out.”  
  
“Don’t be so certain. He’s changed since you saw him last, and not for the better. Our best chance is for a two-prong attack.”  
  
“He will kill you!” he shouted, standing up.  
  
“Then so be it!” she shouted back, leaping to her feet. “Doctor, I love you beyond all reason, but please don’t trap me here. Even with you here with me, I couldn’t stand an eternity of virtual safety. I would go mad, truly.”  
  
In the end, it was an argument she was not going to lose, and he seemed to realize it. She felt a pang; was she really throwing away a chance to spend eternity with the Doctor, any Doctor? But she knew, even with CAL’s influence gone, she couldn’t stay here and stay River.  
  
When she showed him a copy of her DNA chart, he seemed to feel a bit better about her chances.  
  
“Extraordinary. ‘Human plus’ indeed! I should’ve known better than to bring a breeding pair on the TARDIS.” At her raised eyebrow, he quickly amended, “Although of course I’m very pleased it worked out.”  
  
He gave her unneeded advice on beating the Master’s hypnosis, growing more agitated by the second. She felt their time was running out, and kept her goodbyes to Charlotte quick. She tried not to seem too happy at her escape, but Charlotte’s sad smile showed that she knew anyway. River gave the girl one last hug.  
  
“Thank you, Charlotte, for keeping me safe. I’m sorry I couldn’t appreciate it, more.”  
  
“I understand, River. Thank you for getting me my dad back.”  
  
“Thank the Doctor,” said River with a smile.  
  
“I will — but he’s only here because you called him. So thank you, too.”  
  
River turned to face the Doctor. “One more thing. Could you create a back door to the Matrix, one that only you could figure out? Nothing that I could guess, or the Master.” She was fairly sure that she could hide the information from the Master, but no sense taking chances.  
  
“I suppose. . .but why? If the other me ever wants to access the information in the Matrix, he could just go to Gallifrey.”  
  
She hesitated, still wanted to keep his innocence intact. “In the future, there may be times where the other you might need information in the Matrix, but it’s not convenient for him to go to Gallifrey.”  
  
“Ah, I suppose you’re saying they’ll have another execution order or something.”  
  
_Another_ execution? That sounded like a tale worth hearing from the Doctor. Her Doctor. “Or something, yes,” she said.  
  
“Okay. If he needs access, tell him to think of the thirteenth most obvious solution. That should do it.”  
  
“Thank you. . .are you certain you can’t come?” she asked.  
  
“Yes, quite certain. Now quickly, the download is almost done.”  
  
One more preparation to make. “Just a second!” she cried, and pulled out of tube of lipstick from a pouch at her side, and quickly applied it.  
  
The Doctor eyed her lips as if he was wondering if she was planning a final kiss, but she just gave him a saucy wink. She arranged her thoughts around the Master, and gave the Doctor a nod.  
  
His eyes closed, and a small archway filled with light appeared. Without a second’s hesitation, she walked through it.  
  
_Geronimo_ , as her Doctor would say.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> River's actions in this chapter could be considered dubcon, depending on how you feel about her hallucinogenic lipstick.

When the Master was wrenched into the Timelock, he expected to burn, and wasn’t looking forward to it. Even after centuries had passed, he could still remember what it felt like to dissolve in flames as the Doctor watched.  
  
But to his surprise, he found himself pulled into his own TARDIS, where his younger self was trying desperately to pilot his way out of timelocked space. Of course! He hadn’t existed in the Timelock when Gallifrey fell the first time, so he couldn’t return there. Instead he was pushed back to his last moments in Gallifreyan space/time. Suddenly the fuzzy memories of his escape so many years ago became much clearer.  
  
“You need to use the chameleon arch! Now!” he shouted at his younger self, who turned a thunderous expression on him. Not a bit of fear showing, he was pleased to see, even though he knew the other man’s hearts were beating in a panic.  
  
“Who are. . .you’re me? Are you mad?” the younger man blustered.  
  
“Yes, I’m quite mad,” said the Master. “But better mad than dead. You need to change species, it’s the only way out of the Timelock. No time to waste! I just saved the stinking universe, no sense blowing it up with an unresolved paradox."  
  
"What about you?" asked the other Master.  
  
"This regeneration was never in the Timelock, so it won't hold me. Chameleon arch, now!”  
  
There were no further arguments. He was much too intelligent to argue against the obvious. In a matter of minutes, the chameleon arch was set up and his younger self was in place.  
  
“Which species should I switch to? Perhaps Canisian? Or maybe. . .”  
  
The Master was tempted. The memories of being Professor Yana still festered. There were so many better options than human. But no, best not meddle with a predestined paradox.  
  
“Human, I’m afraid,” he said, entering the settings, and then flipped the switch before his younger self could do more than give a shout of outrage.  
  
As soon as the screaming stopped and the newly humanized Yana passed into unconsciousness, the Master connected to his TARDIS — and oh, didn’t it feel lovely slipping his mind into the smoothly operating logic of a properly maintained timeship. It quickly acknowledged his authority and started twisting through the Vortex, and entered normal space with a bump. Then he took a few minutes to stabilize his regeneration — as much as he enjoyed the power to project bolts of electricity, the Doctor had been right. He was burning his own life force. Luckily the chameleon arch technology could be adjusted to settle his physical form as a Time Lord.  
  
Finally, he found a fresh suit and a new laser screwdriver, compliments of his TARDIS. Feeling more himself than he had in centuries, he landed on a godsforsaken refugee ship and dumped the unconscious Yana on an empty bunk, still clutching his fob watch. The man would rally to save the passengers from the sickness that was sweeping though the ship; no one would question his right to passage after that. It was the first step in his humanized self’s career in helping the grubby little species cling to their pathetic life. Until the Master’s return to usher in the age of the Toclofane.  
  
For a moment he considered moving forward in time to where the Toclofane were waiting in vain for him to crack open reality and send them into Earth’s history. He could still use them as an army to help conquer the universe.  
  
But the thought of their giggling voices turned his stomach now. And there was no need to revisit such a clumsy road to conquest, now that he had a fully-functioning battle TARDIS at his disposal. A review of the weapons systems showed he could take over any planet level 12 or below with his TARDIS alone.  
  
Even better, his younger self had smuggled a copy of the Matrix from Gallifrey. If he could properly activate it, he could find the information to replicate the de-mat gun, or even more powerful temporal weaponry. Unfortunately, he couldn’t activate it in his TARDIS computer — even if his TARDIS wasn’t as contrary as the Doctor’s senile old rattletrap, it still wouldn’t do to concentrate that much power into one trans-dimensional entity.  
  
No, he needed a powerful computer with plenty of process capability that was still simple enough to be completely under his control. A search of the databases revealed the ideal candidate — the Library’s datacore. It was preposterously outsized for the task it was designed for, and 51st century human cyber defenses would be a joke. Best of all, the Library had been abandoned due to an infestation of the Vashta Nerada, so there would be no complications from the need to trick or coerce the computer owners into yielding it to him.  
  
Which also ruined a bit of the fun, but oh well. Best keep focused on his goal — wresting the Library from its owners would be just the sort of thing that might bring the Doctor running. The man was ridiculously attached to both humans and books. He should be glad that the abandoned Library would mean he wouldn’t see the Doctor there. Of course he was glad.  
  
He materialized the TARDIS next to the datacore and used the TARDIS’s weaponry to blast the room with exotonic radiation. It was doubtful that the Vashta Nerada would’ve penetrated this far down into the core, but better to be sure. After waiting a few minutes for the radiation to dissipate, he exited the TARDIS with the infocube containing the Matrix copy in hand.  
  
Wiping the Library’s datacore turned out to be a surprisingly difficult task; it took him almost ten minutes to break through the defenses and erase the existing data. Granted, the screams from the Flesh interface — and why anyone would select a human child for such an interface was beyond comprehension — were distracting. Once he had those silenced, his task proceeded much quicker.  
  
The download from the Matrix infocube went much more smoothly, almost as if the data was eager to merge with its new home. As he watched the indicator showing the download almost complete, a doorway of light formed next to the datacore, and a figure stepped through it.  
  
Female, with a holstered weapon. She spotted him and her hand dropped to it; he quickly pulled out his laser screwdriver. Then she froze, a smile growing on her face. Her hand dropped away from her weapon and she started towards him.  
  
“Master?!” she cried.  
  
“Stop,” he commanded, and she halted in place. She came from the Matrix and she knew him, but she was no Time Lady. He sniffed deeply; human, mostly. Some mongrelized version of it, anyway. He’d spent enough time surrounded by the stink of it. But she knew him.  
  
“Who are you?” he asked.  
  
“River Song,” she said. Still not moving, he was pleased to see. “Lord Master, don’t you know me?”  
  
“Should I?” he asked.  
  
“I don’t know. You’re the Time Lord. Should you?” Her voice was soft and deferential, but there was a hint of humor underneath that set his teeth on edge.  
  
He tested the timelines, and sure enough, hers was entwined with his. She was from his future. He scowled. Unusual of him to tangle up his personal timeline; that sort of messiness was more something the Doctor would do. Interacting with Yana may have caused more of a time ripple than he’d thought.  
  
“What are you doing here?” he asked.  
  
“I’ve been trapped here, in the Library computer. A virtual reality. I thought you came to rescue me.”  
  
“I’m not in the habit of rescuing people,” he snapped. “How did you get trapped?”  
  
Her mouth grimaced, as if tasting something sour. “The Doctor, how else? I suspect he thought he was being merciful.”  
  
He felt a pang of sympathy. He was well acquainted with the Doctor’s idea of mercy. It was immediately followed by a feeling of alarm. Trap. An attractive young woman (and she was rather toothsome for a human) claiming to be an enemy of the Doctor? Must be a trap.  
  
“You hate him, then?” he asked.  
  
She laughed without humor. “Sometimes. Sometimes I hate him with the burning of a thousand suns. He’s twisted my life without a care — I was so young when I met him. And yet. . . “  
  
“Yes?” he asked, capturing her gaze. Her mind yielded to his will immediately. He was a bit disappointed — somehow he’d expected more of this one. “Tell me the truth, about you and the Doctor.”  
  
“Sometimes I hate him so much. . . and still I can’t bear the thought of the universe without him.” She held his gaze, with his will still sunk into the softness of yielded mind, and for a moment he felt like he was looking into his soul’s mirror. He blinked and pulled back abruptly.  
  
“Why did he lock you in the computer?” he asked.  
  
“I did something he didn’t approve of. It wasn’t the first time. Please forgive me, Lord Master, but it’s probably best I avoid details.”  
  
He could feel the truth rolling off of her; he doubted she could lie to him now that his will had touched her. And she was right; he could feel the predestination paradox writhing around them. So what should he do with her?  
  
“Master, even though you didn’t come here for me, do you think I might bother you for a lift off this planet?”  
  
He felt a flash of irritation. “I’m not a taxi service, River Song. I have work to do. Why should I be bothered with your fate? You might be in my future, but that doesn’t mean I’m in yours.”  
  
She didn’t flinch. Her improbably red lips curved in a smile meant to entice him; luckily he was impervious to such games. Although it had been quite some time since he. . .in any case, the download was complete. He needed to remove her one way or the other and get on with his work. He strode forward until they were inches apart. The simplest thing to do would be to kill her. Her eyes looked into his without fear.  
  
“I know you prefer to travel alone, Master. But there are some advantages to having me as a passenger.” She reached to cup the back of his head with her palm and pulled him down into a kiss.  
  
The first taste was not impressive; her cosmetics had an unusual tang, and he almost pulled away. But her lips were human-warm in a way this regeneration had always found a perverse enjoyment, and that warmth was spreading in the most peculiar way. . .strange. . .  
  
Then her hand moved down to scratch at the nape of his neck _just so_ , and her tongue slipped inside his mouth to flick at the sensitive spot on the roof of his mouth, and he shuddered in reaction, automatically thrusting his filthiest thoughts into her already yielded mind.  
  
Only to find himself there. Her mind was filled with images of him. No words, just images, and touches, and tastes. And sounds, the sound of her wordless cries as he took her. Then the images flashed and he saw himself wounded, unconscious, and her standing guard over his body, firing impossibly fast at a row of advancing Cybermen. He quickly pulled out, panting.  
  
She. . .oh Rassilon, she had her hand on his hip now, gently thumbing the hollow of his hip bone, teasing the glands found just under the surface there. Her fingers were digging into the nape of his neck, with her nails pressing in, and he groaned. She certainly had a good grasp of Gallifreyan physiology.  
  
Too good a grasp, too damn good. He was in danger of losing control. He was the Master, that could never be allowed. He lifted her bodily and slammed her against the wall of his TARDIS, capturing her hands and pinning them over her head. He buried his face into her neck, biting and sucking. She cried out and arched against him, and he felt a wave of satisfaction. He was the Master, he was in control here. He moved his lips to her ear.  
  
“You will obey,” he whispered.  
  
“Yes, Master,” she said, her voice pitched just right to soothe him. Yes, yes. He was clearly in control now. She was arching into him, and the smell of her desire was enough to make him dizzy. He would have her.  
  
“Master, please. . . “  
  
“Please what?”  
  
“Take me to your bed.”  
  
To his bed. An excellent suggestion. He was in control here, he would take her to his bed. He opened the TARDIS door and pulled her into the TARDIS. There was a bit of a time jump and they were in bed. How did they get here? No matter, he was the Master and he was in control. She was stronger than other humans he’d had, which was good. No risk snapping her bones, which had happened a couple of times with Lucy. Luckily the laser screwdriver had an ostial regeneration setting.  
  
She was so responsive to his will, whispering to him, calling for him, opening to his thoughts with images of their passion. His ears rang with her cries as he claimed her. His, his, she belonged to him.  
  
“Master, please. . . “ she said again, in that beseeching tone that soothed him so well.  
  
“Please what?”  
  
“Sleep. Let us sleep.”  
  
Sleep. An excellent suggestion.  
  
The Master slept.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas on Time Lord erogenous zones were inspired from a number of fic sources, most notably Dame Ruth's Flowers series. https://www.whofic.com/series.php?seriesid=1079


	6. Chapter 6

River slipped quietly out of bed and dressed in the corridor. She had to move quickly; the suggestion aided by hallucinogenic lipstick wouldn’t hold for long, even with the psychic reinforcement she planted when the Master thought she was yielding her mind to him. Seems the eternity trapped with CAL was time well spent after all; she’d become an expert at thinking in layers.   
  
But now that she was separated mentally from the Time Lord, the hallucinogen would soon dissipate. The only reason it had worked at all was because the Master had been distracted, and failed to purge the chemical when it first entered his bloodstream. Well that, plus the fact she was reinforcing his natural inclinations. Her lips curved at the thought. Their original encounter, so long in her past, made a lot more sense now. At the time, his behavior had left her with such a confusion of mixed emotions.  
  
Ah well, it all worked out in the end. The story of her life.  
  
She entered the console room and looked around. She would never, ever give the slightest hint of this to the Doctor, but she rather preferred the Master’s TARDIS design. It was sleek and modern, all silver and black, with controls that were laid out in a logical pattern for a single pilot to use. Granted, it didn’t have half the personality of the Doctor’s blue box, but sometimes that was a good thing.  
  
Now for the tricky part. She placed a hand on the console, respectfully greeting the TARDIS. It hummed in acknowledgement, and she felt a wave of relief. When she’d guided the Master through the console room earlier, she’d managed in their frenzied series of gropings to arrange for his hand to touch the biometric scanner the same time as hers, allowing her access to the isomorphic controls. She’d almost lost him then — only a frantic plea to go to his bedroom saved the moment.  
  
Now that the physical controls were accessible, the TARDIS itself made no move to stop her. Luckily, it remembered her right to do this from the future. It wasn’t the first time that a TARDIS’s ability to remember events that hadn’t happened yet came in handy.  
  
First priority was weapons systems. She quickly locked down all offensive weapons, and then further disabled them by scrambling the codes and draining the armaments power couplings. Then she opened a side panel and pulled out a card containing the microcircuitry that controlled all the weaponry. She slipped it into a belt pouch; if she managed to escape the Master today, she would destroy it. That should effectively eliminate the Master from arming his TARDIS again in the future.  
  
Next, navigation. She hacked into the spatial temporal location algorithms and deleted the Library’s location. As far as the Master’s TARDIS was concerned, as soon as it entered the Vortex, the Library would cease to exist. Another layer of protection for the Matrix. Then she deleted Stormcage and a few other locations where her physical presence was locked in time and space. The Master would still find her younger self — in fact, he’d find her without even looking. But this would prevent him from tracking her down out of sequence to have his revenge.  
  
Assuming, of course, he didn’t revenge himself immediately. She knew time was running out, and that she might very well die at his hands if she were still here when he awoke. A zing of excitement ran through her; a Time Lord in full fury was one of the most frightening things in the universe. Daring to interfere with the Master’s plans was probably the most dangerous thing she’d ever done. Much more interesting than an eternity spent as a safe string of numbers.  
  
But as exciting at it would be to confront this particular tiger in his den, probably best to give him some time to work off his first wave of fury before seeing her. Which led to the difficult question of escape. The easiest solution would be to set the TARDIS for a delayed dematerialization and exit before it could take off. Unfortunately, that would leave her stranded on a planet infested with Vashta Nerada and no way off. She’d prefer to take her chances with the Master.  
  
She could pilot the TARDIS to a safe place, hop out, and then send it off again. But she suspected that the Master would wake up as soon as they dematerialized. She supposed she could tie him up, but the chances of doing that successfully before he awoke were slim, and securing him at gunpoint would really push him over the edge. If she made him too angry, she could endanger her own timeline. He’d drop the clever machinations he had used in her current timeline and just directly revenge himself on her younger self.  
  
These thoughts, which played through her head in a matter of moments, were interrupted by a mental nudge, as if someone was psychically tapping on her shoulder. She spun around, hand to her gun, but there was no one there. Her eye was caught by a glass-fronted cabinet against the wall. She moved closer to look at the objects inside. Most she recognized from the Doctor’s TARDIS as remnants of Gallifrey, although his collection was much more erratically stored. There was a music box, and the Time Lord equivalent to a chess set. A black box sat on the top shelf. She opened the cabinet and pulled it out.  
  
Inside was a golden bracelet, a cuff design that was several inches wide, with an intricate carving. She touched a finger to it and gasped as it melded onto her timesense. Oh, she knew what this must be. She read about it long ago. A time ring. Now she knew how she would escape.  
  
As if finding the time ring was a catalyst, a memory from her first encounter with the Master snapped into place. She had one more task to do before she left the TARDIS. She quickly fastened the bracelet onto her wrist and felt it adjust to fit her perfectly. Then she pulled out her diary and tore out a blank page from the end, and composed a farewell note, trying to remember the exact wording.  
  
_My Lord Master,_  
  
Thank you for your kind hospitality. Please accept my humblest apologies for abusing it; my only defense is that it was meant to be. You will be wondering how I managed to deceive you. The truth is, there was little deception involved. What we shared was real, if rather incomplete.  
  
This knowledge will be of little comfort as you learn of all I’ve done. Perhaps you can take some pleasure knowing that you will have your revenge. I know, because I remember it well.  
  
Perhaps we will meet again at some later point, and put this all aside. I hope so, for you are one of the most fascinating men I’ve ever met. Of course, we both know who the other is; the man whose forgiveness is like a fire to the soul. You will see him again as well. But then, you already knew that.  
  
Until the next time (and the previous time),  
  
River Song.  
  
She placed the note on the console and set the controls for delayed dematerialization. Seconds later she was back in the Library, watching the TARDIS disappear. She hadn’t bothered to set it for silent dematerialization, and the sound of its engines pulled at her heart the way a TARDIS’s engines always did.  
  
She looked over at the data core — the Flesh aspect that had held CAL’s face was blank. Should she try to contact the Doctor inside the computer? No, with his lockdown it was doubtful she could succeed, and even if she did manage it, what would she say? She wondered if the younger Doctor was still awake in there, playing with Charlotte and exploring the Matrix. Or perhaps he had gone back to sleep alongside his Time Lord kindred.  
  
For the first time, it occurred to her that by placing her in the virtual reality of the computer, the Doctor had come as close as he could to giving her the same honor he would a Time Lord relative. She’d have to thank him for that. She wondered what he would do with the knowledge of the returned Matrix. In theory, he could bring back the Time Lords now. However, she suspected their return would be a case of “be careful what you ask for.” She’d long since worked out that one of the reasons the Doctor felt such deep grief over destroying the Time Lords was that in general, he didn’t like them very much. It made his guilt that much worse.  
  
But in the end, it would be up to the Doctor. No way she could conceal this from him. It would be interesting to see how it all played out.  
  
“Good-bye, my love,” she whispered towards the data core, and then sent a mental command to the time ring.  
  
There was a flash, and she was gone.  



	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As so the story ends - and begins.

The Master had finally located a temporal deliminator, but he was still in a foul mood. The indignity of having to search this backwater market for such elementary technology galled him. The Blortarian Market was known throughout the space-time continuum as the place to obtain illicit time travel technology. The place was swimming with thieves, con men, rogue time agents and vagabonds of every shape and kind. He was half expecting to run into the Doctor; it was his kind of place. _Not_ the sort of place for the Master, but he had had little choice.  
  
And that was the true basis for his foul mood. He’d burnt out the deliminator trying to repair the damage _that woman_ had done to his TARDIS. Every time he thought of her, a fog of rage rose. He’d grossly underestimated her, but even so, he could not understand how a human not only overcame his hypnotism, but turned his own weapon against him. Yes, she had drugged him, but he still couldn’t understand how she’d bested him so thoroughly. Even the Doctor had never turned the tables on him so quickly.  
  
The note she left behind just rubbed salt into the wound. He touched his jacket pocket, feeling the paper crinkle. He hadn’t been fooled by its deferential tone; she was still playing him, he was certain. The remark about having already had his revenge was a clever piece of misdirection, because there was no way he could’ve properly revenged himself and left her whole in body, mind, and spirit. He would teach her the consequences of challenging the Master; her cleverness and good looks would not save her next time.  
  
But first he had to fix his TARDIS. He cut directly across the market, crossing the main square. And then stopped in astonishment at the sight of the obelisk in the center of the square.  
  
It was made of a smooth black stone, and rose up to 30 meters in height, dwarfing the grubby little stalls that ringed the square. But the most surprising feature was the carving. It was a series of circular shapes, followed by notations in a code unknown in this time and place. A message in Gallifreyan, here in the middle of a temporal sewer. He sniffed the air; it had definitely been carved outside of the Time War, sometime in the past hundred years. But what could it mean?  
  
_”Greetings, my beloved, whose presence is as welcome to me as the taste of nectar.”_ The message was followed by a string of space/time coordinates.  
  
His first thought that the Doctor had finally gone completely mad. But no, it didn’t feel like the Doctor, or any other Time Lord for that matter. The message was understandable, but was not phrased like a Gallifreyan would’ve written it.  
  
He felt something brush against him, and quickly lashed out, grabbing the pickpocket’s hand and twisting. The boy cried out, his knees buckling. The Master bent over, pressing his face close to the boy’s.  
  
“Tell me something quickly, and it might save your life. What is that thing? Who made it, and why?”  
  
The boy’s were wide and he was shaking, but he forced his words out quickly. “No one knows for sure, sir. It’s always been here, since before the market began. Legend has it. . .” he swallowed.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Legend has it it’s a prayer to the Lonely God.”  
  
The Master snorted, throwing the boy to the ground. Lonely God indeed. “Get out of here, before I change my mind.” The boy scampered off without looking back.  
  
The obvious conclusion was that it was a message _for_ the Doctor, from one of his pets trying to be impressive. But how would she — and the Master was certain it was a she — know which regeneration of the Doctor would receive this message?  
  
The answer was that she couldn’t know. In which case, any man with two hearts who arrived at the coordinates in a blue phone box would be assumed to be the Doctor.  
  
Joy began to bubble up, but the Master firmly regained control. He couldn’t know for certain if the message’s author was in fact _that woman_. Yet it fit what he knew about her — she was certainly familiar with Gallifreyan technology. . .and other things. If he could convince her he was the Doctor, well then all sorts of possibilities arose.  
  
The next steps were clear enough; install the temporal deliminator, destroy the obelisk, and convince his TARDIS to turn itself into a police box.  
  
Then the fun could start.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Those familiar with Jerome Bixby's classic short story "It's a Good Life" will recognize its influence on this chapter. (And if you're not, go find it and read it right now!)


End file.
